


Uncharted Territory

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets fed up with Sam's teenage angst-a-thon and decides to do something about it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncharted Territory

Dean had had it. He tried to remind himself that sixteen wasn't the easiest age to be, and that being a hunter wasn't the easiest way to grow up, but Sam seemed to be pushing the envelope beyond what he could stand. Over the last year, he'd gone from a generally sunny kid who never stopped asking questions to a sullen teenager who hardly ever came out of his room, but when he did, was a major pain in the ass. He seemed to be constantly keeping score, adding up grievances and grudges like the tally would somehow balance everything out in the end instead of just make it worse. Lately, everything provoked an argument, from the nature of evil to what they were having for dinner that night. Dean hated it most when Dad left them alone and Dean had to be in charge; at least when Dad was home, Sam did most of his arguing with him. When he wasn't, Sam picked the arguments with Dean.

Like now. All Dean had done was ask the brat to wash the dishes after supper, only to get a bitchface of epic proportions and a comment about how he was having to do all the drudge work, like he was freaking Cinderella. And that was _it_. "Sam, if you don't stop being such a pain in the ass, I swear to God I'll -"

"What, tell Dad on me?"

His eyes narrowed. "No, I'll give you a pain in _your_ ass."

Sam huffed. "You wouldn't dare."

"Go ahead. Try me."

Very deliberately, Sam leaned forward and poked Dean in the shoulder with two fingers. Instantly, Dean's hand shot up to grab his wrist, jerking his hand back behind his neck, forcing him into an uncomfortable stretch that elicited an instant, "Ow! Hey, knock it off, you jerk!"

"Shut up, bitch," Dean snarled, tightening his grip as he gave Sam a hard push that sent him sprawling out over the coffee table. He pinned him there, elbow digging into his back to keep him still. Sam swore and tried to buck him off, but Dean kicked his thigh and snapped, "Stop it, unless you want me to kick your ass so hard that even your bruises'll have bruises."

Something in his tone must've convinced Sam he was serious, because he quit fighting and went still. Dean manhandled his arm down and twisted it around behind his back, pressing down just enough on his wrist to show how badly he could hurt him in that position. Sam wriggled against the coffee table, then went stiff when Dean landed a hard swat on his upturned ass. "Dean, wait - Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Not good enough, Sammy," he shot back, hitting him again. "You wanna act like a spoiled brat, then you're gonna get treated like one." Dean gave him at least ten good hard smacks before a soft moan made him pause.

He smirked at the sound and glanced down at his brother, ready to rub it in about Sam acting like a girl over a little pain, but one look at Sam pulled him up short. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth partially open, and if Dean didn't know better he'd say he was - But that was ridiculous.

Wasn't it?

Dean knew that if he was smart he'd put a stop to it right now. He'd let Sam up with some remark about remembering that Dean would beat his ass if he got out of line again, and pretend not to notice if his brother jumped up and went running for the bathroom to lock himself in. He'd make an excuse to go out for a little while and let Sam have some privacy to deal with whatever this whole thing had stirred up while Dean went out to get a drink and find a few pretty girls to flirt with. And he was going to do all of that.

He was. Just as soon as he remembered how to move.

Sam whimpered, a soft, plaintive sound that really had no business making Dean's dick twitch like that. He swallowed hard and laid his hand lightly on Sam's upturned ass. "Sammy..."

"Please, Dean," Sam whispered, the words tearing free in a low, harsh voice that didn't sound at all like him. Dean wasn't sure what he was asking for, whether he wanted him to stop or keep going, but when Sam pushed back into his hand, he decided it didn't matter.

The next blow was different than the ones that had come before it, steadier and slower, as though the consideration that had gone into his decision showed in the way his hand landed on his brother's ass. Sam's whole body jerked as he let out an honest to God, begging-for-more moan that Dean answered with another hard smack. He watched Sam rock against the table and press back in a silent demand for more, setting a rhythm that Dean fell easily into.

The loud thwack of his hand against denim and flesh mingled with Sam's gasps and moans, filling the room until they seemed to echo off the walls. Dean was fully hard now, his dick pressing painfully against his fly, but he didn't stop, couldn't make himself stop long enough to do anything about it. Sam was clutching the coffee table so hard his knuckles were turning white, head thrown back in absolute abandonment while his hips twitched forward with every strike. They were way off the edge of the map now, writing their own rules, but any chance to get back to safely marked territory was long gone.

Dean landed three hard licks in a row without stopping, hard enough to make his hand sting with the impact, and Sam groaned loudly. A hard shudder ripped through him and Dean watched his hips grind against the table as he rode out what had to be a pretty damn stellar orgasm. "Fuck," he whispered, caught off-guard by the sheer hotness of watching Sam come and knowing he'd been the one to do that to him. Sam collapsed against the table in a boneless sprawl that Dean wanted to do all sorts of very bad, non-brotherly things to. He licked his lips, one hand stroking slowly over Sam's ass, his other finally sliding down to grip his dick through his jeans. "Jesus, Sammy," he breathed. "You really got off on that..."

His brother went rigid under his hand, almost as if he'd just thrown a bucket of cold water on him. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, and before Dean could assure him that he _really_ had nothing to apologize for, he twisted away, jumped to his feet and bolted for his room. The door slammed shut with a thud that was unmistakably final, an exclamation mark that highlighted exactly how bad Dean had just fucked up.

"Shit," he muttered, forcing himself to get to his feet as well. But he didn't go after Sam, who was probably planning his death right now. And he deserved it; he'd all but molested his brother, and God knows he'd taken what should have been a simple punishment into territory it was never meant to be in. And the worst part was that he wasn't sorry. He couldn't be, not now that he'd seen Sam fall apart like that and realized how fucking hot he was when he let go.

Not that he was ever going to get to see it again. Dean sighed and headed into the kitchen to ice his hand and try to ignore about the ache that was still throbbing between his legs. When he finally cracked and shoved a hand down into his pants an hour and three beers later, he told himself it was the only time he was going to jerk off thinking about Sam like that.

It didn't take him more than a few minutes to come, shooting hard over his fingers at the memory of Sam shuddering against the table, and he knew he'd be seeing that image in his dreams and fantasies for a long time to come.


End file.
